"Alas! there are not even embers in the grate," he said, "I fear me, you must be cold."
From somewhere out of the darkness--she could not see from where--he brought a footstool for her feet; then he pulled a low chair forward for himself and sat down at some little distance from her, in his favourite attitude, with one elbow on his knee and his face shaded by his hand. She remained silent for a moment or two, for she suddenly felt an extraordinary sense of well-being; just the same as she had felt last night, and once or twice before in his presence. And she felt deeply sorry for him too. After all, perhaps he had no more desired this marriage than she had--and no doubt the furrows on his face came from anxiety and care, and she marvelled what it was that troubled him.
"There," he asked gaily, "are you better now, Madonna?"
"Better, I thank you," she replied.
"Then shall I interpret the thoughts which were coursing behind that smooth brow of yours, when first I startled you by my presence here?"
"If you will."
He waited a moment, then said dryly: "You desired to convey to me your wish to return to your father.... Oh! only for a little while," he added hastily, seeing that she had made a quick, protesting gesture, "but that was in your mind, was it not?"
She could not deny it, and murmured: "Yes."
"Such a wish, Madonna," he rejoined, gravely, "is as a command to me. In the late morning the horses will be at your disposal. I will have the honour to accompany you to Brussels."
"You, Messire!" she exclaimed, "you would..."